


Bright You Are

by marginalia



Series: Marauder Rhombus [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, marauder rhombus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-17
Updated: 2004-02-17
Packaged: 2018-10-04 00:24:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10262528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginalia/pseuds/marginalia





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bigger than the both of us](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/273917) by belovedsnail. 



Remus once had an ancient paperback that proclaimed itself "the next _Lolita_ ". He found it at 3am in the free box in front of a second-hand store, and he carried it for two weeks until Peter spilled a drink on it and the cover bled, waves of ink fading to pink through water-warped pages. Remus fanned it out over the heater to dry as much as it could in the few hours before check-out, and then stuck it in the drawer under the omnipresent Gideon as they left.

It never mattered how late it was; Remus always read before attempting to sleep. Or attempted to read before sleeping. It depended on the night. And the book. Luckily, it took much more than a weak motel bedside lamp to keep the others awake, so when the tour began the habit persisted. He considered the book to be a truly brilliant invention, as if it was well-written, he could tumble full-force into another world, invest himself wholly in the dreams and folly of others. If it did not pull him in, he could still hold it in front of him, still locked in the rhythm of page-turning and inhale-exhale-ash of smoking, and have a curtain between him and the rest of the room.

Peter had been long-asleep in the other bed, and James had passed out in front of the television. Remus peered over the top of the page, flicked the ash automatically, and watched Sirius begin to settle in for the night, so close to the foot of Remus's bed that he couldn't see him without it being obvious.

Remus tended to think everything he did was obvious.

When he broke up with Patrick before the tour began, he half-expected Patrick to throw some comment at him about Sirius, likely laden with a painful pun, something that would slice through the tension of the moment and make the world explode. When it didn't come, the tension slid down Remus's spine and twisted itself in a knot.

He imagined Sirius could work that knot loose, strong fingers and heat stretching free all the twisted bits. Remus would burn bright where Sirius touched him, and he would feel it for days, the ache, but that would be far better than the icy numb snarls lurking beneath his skin.

Knots and skin and he came back to himself and the room. He tossed a pillow down to Sirius, couching the offer in profanity to cover up the catch in his throat, the risk of.

The risk.

He waited for Sirius to sleep, drifted mechanically into the rhythm of the book (flip flip edges of pages catching on his fingers), and tried not to think at all, not about Sirius or Patrick or the sounds bleeding through the thin walls.

If only it were that easy.

Sirius. So close. The rhythm of his breathing gone regular, but still shallow. Remus cocked his head to one side, closed his eyes, imagined he could hear better that way. Sirius, too quiet, no soft murmur of dreaming. He chewed the inside of his lip, dropped the book on the bedside stand, flicked off the light, and thought for one mad moment that he could just say something, could whisper out across the dark. He could just say, _come_ , and maybe it would be that easy, that Sirius would. He would slide between the still-cool sheets and curl into Remus (drowsy-warm), kiss him gently (eyelids heavy), and they'd both sleep, then. And in the morning they could get up and get breakfast for everyone, and James and Peter wouldn't know, or if they did it wouldn't matter because it had been obvious all along.

If anything, it was obvious Remus was going mad. It was a miracle that Sirius was even here rather than off violating the law and one of the sign-holding girls. The blonde one. The gulf of dark was uncrossable, but it didn't matter.

None of it mattered. He sat up, slung his legs over the side of the bed, leaned over and flicked open the case. The squeak of bedsprings and hinges were like a shot through the room, slicing through the pace of Sirius breathing, the pace Remus had been (un)consciously matching. Remus lifted the bass, cold like everything else, tested and tuned. It warmed a little against his body, and he felt the notes all through him. A caress.

The streetlight shone orange outside the window, and he dreamed a boy who thought him beautiful. A boy who saw him shine. He threw out all caution as he heard Sirius shifting at the foot of the bed, and whispersang the song of the night and the room and the way Sirius glowed always, the way he gave off heat and light and the world shimmered it back. The way Remus was dark, the way he wanted to pull Sirius into him, to absorb the light and maybe shine a little too.

 _The brightest one I know._ It caught in his throat, and when the door slammed outside the room he remembered to breathe. He closed his eyes briefly, then settled the bass back into the casing and lay back in the bed. He stared at the stains in the ceiling, and pretended not to be listening for Sirius, Sirius who had forgotten that he was meant to be asleep.

 _You're an idiot, Lupin._ He reached for the pack and lighter, lit a cigarette, and screwed his eyes up tight for a moment, waiting for the wave to pass. He listened to the cars on the street, the voices in the parking lot, and stubbed out his cigarette. He lay back against the pillow, one arm curled above his head.

With Sirius in the room, it was too bright to sleep.


End file.
